Gifts and Treasures

five: little dreams

Radiant Garden: Merlin's House

Vincent took a quick breath in through his nose, let it out through his mouth. It was no good. Even underneath the scent of healing Potions and cinnamon and black tea, he still smelled roses.

Aerith looked up at him and smiled. She took in a breath, too, and threads of something white and ancient shifted in her eyes. For a moment Vincent thought of the White Materia, of Holy and the surging crash of the Lifestream, of the screaming descent of Meteor.

But the moment flashed by in the taste of mint and Mako and old blessings. Every scratch ached at once, burning as if they had just re-opened. He looked down to his arm and saw a dozen cuts pinken and then knit themselves shut.

Aerith's hands stilled over his arm, as if waiting. She wasn't waiting; he had seen her at the limits of her magic, coaxing more power or more casts from a Materia than it could give. She hadn't needed a Materia, but she had clearly pushed Cura to the far reaches of its tier. She breathed in deeply, eyes drifting closed and face a little pale. Her color returned when she opened her eyes.

Just a few yards away, Leonhart looked up from the leather-bound book Yuffie had brought back. Leonhart's gaze lingered on Aerith, weighty and sharp.

She smiled again, then stood and made her way over to Auron. The unSent only looked away from the dollhouse, and the fairies gathered around the woman sleeping within, when Aerith touched his shoulder. Vincent caught snatches of the conversation, her offer of Cure and his grim acceptance. But as Aerith placed her hands on Auron's bare arm, Vincent found himself scanning the room.

Ah. Surprisingly, she hadn't moved away from Leonhart or Cid. She was still in the midst of them with the book on her lap.

Yuffie turned a page. He traced the shape of her fingers, the angle of her wrists, and did not miss the way her attention sharpened on the page she was reading. She flipped back a page, then turned it again, and then looked up. Right at him.

Vincent saw the flowers engraved - more like burned into or branded than truly engraved - on the book's cover. A rose in full bloom, a lily beginning to droop, but the most detailed, the most-eyecatching, was a withered stalk of grain. He repressed a shudder; he wasn't actually as cold as his body thought it was.

The smell of roses intensified. And Galian, who never stopped longing for blood spilled in snow, began to howl.

Yuffie's eyes met his.

She flipped the book around, pages out, her fingers splayed at its spine.

A gaunt figure in a tattered red cloak stared out at him. On the opposite page, in calligraphy so ornate as to be nearly illegible in places, were the words Vincent Valenntine, Monſter of Maleficent.

Yuffie raised her eyebrows, mocking curiosity. There was no mistaking the line of her jaw, or the way her eyes had narrowed.

That expression wasn't an inquiry. She was daring him to try and explain it. As if there could be any explanation. He knew his own flaws, knew that Yuffie and the others should see him for the monster he was. But the way AVALANCHE had viewed him, had welcomed him, had been —

He should explain. He deserved no less than her fury, than all their fury.

Yuffie turned the page, then dropped the book. Cid snatched it up, peering at it.

"The hell? You wanna try an' explain this, brat?"

She shook her head. "I've got nothing."

Vincent stood, made his way to them. Leonhart looked up, expression cold, and then away, but Cid handed the book over when he held his hand out for it.

He saw immediately why Yuffie had dropped it.

Yuffi Kiſaragi, Childe of Kohei.

The image of her on the other side of the book was of a young girl in green, crouching close to the ground with something blue-green held between her index finger and her thumb.

"Vincent," she said. "What the hell is this book? How come we're in here, but not Cid or Squall?"

The book began to glow. The pages turned without his touching them, rifling until they reached a blank spot. Ink blurred and blotched and traced out shapes on the paper, words appearing in scratches in one place, an image of Yuffie as she was now taking shape elsewhere.

Yuffi Kiſaragi of Wutai, ſworne to Leuiathann, the book now read.

Cid whistled. "Damn. Bet this thing's a hit at parties."

Leonhart crossed his arms. "More like dangerous."

The book finished embellishing Yuffie's name. It skipped down a few a lines, then cheerfully informed them, in neat, careful script: ſhe dreameth of dragonns. In remembering who ſhe once were, ſhe forget who ſhe be.

Yuffie grabbed the book, flipping it back to Vincent's entry before her own could finish. The book didn't correct her.

"I want to know about this. Monfter of Maleficent? Does this thing lisp?"

"That's a long s, kid. Real old kinda writing." But Cid was looking at him, too, with a jaundiced expression that told him he had perhaps ten minutes in which to explain himself.

Yuffie echoed it.

"You retrieved it from a child's prison in Maleficent's castle. You mean to tell me you believe it?"

Rather than answer him, she turned back to the book's very beginning.

Κόρη,

That you might know, and all our debts be diſcharged.

It was Maleficent's handwriting, elegant and serpentine. He recognized it as easily as his own, as easily as Yuffie's or Cloud's.

"Yeah, sounds like a book full of lies, alright."

When he didn't answer, Yuffie opened her mouth to speak, to keep asking. Cid held up a hand. "Enough, Yuffie. Man's not gonna answer. Probably got a right not to, anyhow. Let it rest."

She closed the book with a crisp snap and turned away, tucking it under her arm.

"Alright, alright, it's resting." She didn't need to flutter a hand dismissively for Vincent to hear theFor now under her words.

Yuffie dropped the book onto Merlin's table and dropped into one of the stuffed chairs. The fairies were still gathered around the sleeping woman in the dollhouse. They hadn't budged in an hour, not that Yuffie could blame them. She'd only wandered away out of the monotony of watching a sleeping woman breathe.

Well, that and watching someone sleep seemed a little on the creeptastic side to her.

She thought back to the red-eyed painting in that book, and then forced herself to think about something else. Like the fact that Merlin was murmuring things like pu ekaW and erom on peelSto the sleeping woman. The scent of burnt oatmeal cookies filled the air, but the woman didn't stir.

".ti dnammoc I, pu ekaW .revo si peels rof emit ehT"

Yuffie could almost taste the cookies. Golden brown on the top, and charred on the bottom. Blackening with every word he said, until she caught no hint of the raisins.

At last, Merlin shook his head and sighed. "I apologize, ladies. But whatever spell Maleficent laid on her cannot be undone by a wizard."

"We're going to have to bargain with her again," Paine replied, voice duller than usual.

"No, Paine." Yuna lifted her chin. "We aren't making any more deals with Maleficent."

Rikku smacked a tiny fist into a tiny palm. "We could try that book! She has to be in it!"

Auron's lips twitched up. She didn't really get Auron, but a total moron would have heard hisDon't bet on it. Or maybe it was a That's the spirit. She really couldn't tell with him.

But Paine shook her head. "That's a deal with Maleficent."

"But she's not even here!"

Paine said nothing. After a moment, Rikku hung her head and sighed.

"How's it a deal with her if she's not here?" That one, she had to know. Was that book for her? Some totally bonkers way of paying off Maleficent's debt to her?

"Have you ever heard the Principle of Contagion?"

"The Principle of what?"

Merlin adjusted his spectacles. "The Principle of Contagion means that any piece of a whole is always part of that whole, even if they're separated."

"Once together," Yuna said, quietly, "always together."

"So, what, because she used to own it, it can become her, or whatever?"

Merlin chuckled. "No, most likely not. It's like a spokesperson. For a fairy, any bargain made with that book is a bargain that she can collect on."

"Okay, so no magical book. There still has to be a way to break that spell, right?"

"No spell lasts forever." Yuna looked down at the sleeping woman. "There is a loophole. We just have to find it."

Yuffie picked the book up again, tuning out the mumbo jumbo jargon that Merlin and the fairies had started trading. She paged through until she found her new entry.

It was definitely her, sneakers and vest and dark eyes and all. It looked like some moron with a watercolor kit had painted it, all blobby and blurry, but that didn't change who the girl in the painting was.

The page just sort of sat there, half empty, for a minute before the ink started appearing, finishing the thought:

ſhe dreameth of dragonns. In remembering who ſhe once were, ſhe forget who ſhe be, and for this will gift unto Hades ye ſtill-beating harte of her fateley-bounde.

Radiant Garden: Aerith's House

She left dinner early — and the clean-up to Aerith and Squall, natch — and took that stupid book up to her room. Even with her door closed, she sometimes heard the trail end of one of Aerith's jokes, and then Aerith's giggle while Squall and his hair silently lamented the existence of humor.

Where did that book get off, telling her that she was forgetting who she was? She wasn't. She was Yuffie Kisaragi of Wutai (wherever Wutai was). Her father was Godo Kisaragi. Her mother was —

Only she couldn't remember her mother's name or her face, only a pair of callused hands and the words Real ninjas show monsters who's boss.

And she'd never known a thing about her father. Her mother had died when she was still too young to remember much. So why was she so sure his name was Godo?

Okay, fine, she was maybe getting a little mixed up. Mixed up or not, she wasn't giving anybody's heart to Hades. That was probably a great way to get even more weird new Heartless.

So she read the book again, turned the pages as harshly as she could without ripping them. This thing was going to make sense if it knew what was good for it.

She stopped on a portrait of a young girl whose theme color seemed to be green. Her hair was so dark it gleamed green. Her eyes were green. Her skin was pale green.

She wore the same kind of peplos that Hades wore, only it was green, too. A crown of flowers crossed over her head, but had a loose end that touched the ground. Chains of flowers dangled from her wrists all the way to her feet.

Kore, the other page said, ye Maiden.

Well. Now they knew who the kid was. Probably.

So she turned back to Vincent's page. The Monster of Maleficent.

It couldn't be true. Vincent had gone to the Underworld when his own had been destroyed. Hadn't he? It wasn't like he'd have just gotten loose — or started hanging out with Maleficent — if he had gone there. So when would he have even had time to be brought low by hunger and ironn chaines?

The story wasn't fitting.

Yuffie closed the book. She shut her window without making a sound. The rooftops were quiet, almost completely free of Heartless.

The tiny house Vincent shared with Auron — and, for now, the fairies — was only a street over. Yuffie didn't bother with the door. Easier just to slide a thin wire into the gap between the window and the sill. Flexible wrists and a steady grip meant she soon heard the soft click of the lock.

The window gave a godawful groan when she opened it. She froze.

Something red stirred in the hallway beyond. Could have been Vincent or Auron, easily. But it was Vincent who jerked the window the rest of the way open, Fire glittering around his gauntlet.

"Yuffie," he said. "This house has a door."

"You can't just keep something that messed up to yourself," she found herself saying as she slipped in the window. "I've gotta know, Red."

"I've seen you use doors."

"I mean, seriously, you're right about it being pretty much insta-shady because it came out of Maleficent's castle. And it's not like you'd have had time to hang around with her if you were in the Underworld the whole time."

His face shuttered even more closed than usual. He didn't just look grim or expressionless. He looked like he wasn't even human. And not in the usual way, like the furries or the moogles. He could have been made of stone. Or some totally alien life form that had never even heard of emotions. Or a zombie. He probably was a zombie, come to think of it.

"Seriously. No joke. I've got to know. It's going to drive me crazy. Crazier. Way crazier. I mean it."

He gave her the High Overqueen We Are Not Amused By Your Motormouth Or Your Shenanigans, Also This House Has A Door look. She ignored it, because he really needed to learn that Yuffie Kisaragi, ninja extraordinaire, did not answer to Looks. Not even Squall's. Not even his.

"Don't trust the Book of Storied Names, Yuffie."

His voice was soft, matter-of-fact. As if he was talking about something that didn't matter.

So how did he know the title of that book if it wasn't written on the cover or the spine?

Vincent went still. Like he'd realized that he'd said something he shouldn't have, admitted to something.

"It's true, isn't it?"

He looked away. Like talking about his past was somehow hard for the guy who'd practically monologued all about it the day they met.

Except he hadn't monologued all about it the day they met. She didn't know a thing about him, except that he used to know Cloud and he spent some time in the Underworld. Why did she think he had?

"Yuffie."

The way he said her name — sharp, like she pissed him off, but with a weird gentleness — made her look up.

"Is this what you want to know?"

Yes. No. What she wanted to know was why stained glass reminded her of things and why she thought she knew him.

"You're saying there's more? What, do I only get one answer?"

He looked at her. For once, it wasn't the We Are Unamused look. It wasn't even a look she was sure she recognized. He looked old. Old and sad and resigned, like losing everything was a foregone conclusion. Like he didn't even deserve any better than that.

Which just made her want to shake him.

"Hey! I asked you a question!"

"Without answering mine." The resigned look became a level stare that pinned her where she was. He didn't need to say it for her to hear I see no reason to answer until you're sure of what you're asking.

Yuffie shook her head, cursing under her breath, but went back to the window.

She took the roofs home. No matter how careful she had to be walking on shingles, it was still faster than using the streets. Heartless swarmed from the shadows between the moon and the horizon, but the Claymore system took down most of them. A casual Thunder here, a careless sweep of the Four-Point there, and they were no trouble at all.

He had known the name of the book and had chosen not to answer her. That was answer enough, wasn't it?

He had been Maleficent's monster. Somehow. Though how he'd had enough time for any of that, she had no idea. It didn't make any sense.

Just like it didn't make any sense that she was remembering the pagodas beside a river and beneath a mountain. She'd grown up here, in the Garden, not in Wutai.

So where had Leviathan come from? How had he gotten inside her head?

A Claymore darted up right beside her. Yuffie turned to see what it was attacking, then had to duck a Fire. The roof tiles skittered under her feet, whispering a little more quietly than usual.

She traced the path of the fireballs to see one of those stupid book Heartless. If it could, it'd just stay back and attack with magic.

The sky flashed; bolts of lightning struck the roof around her and then vanished harmlessly, without causing a fire.

So Yuffie ran straight for the little freak. Better to just close in and stomp on it.

And then her footing started sliding around. She adjusted her footwork to catch the indentations in the tiles —

There were no indentations. She'd been running on cedar, not ceramic. She couldn't just slow down; the roof was de-thatching itself under her feet.

In a last resort, she dropped into a squat and put her fist down on the roof. She hissed as the roofing tore at her hand, but used the shift in momentum — slight as it was — to try and adjust the way she was falling.

She had to fall on her side. Had to grab the ledge —

The yank as her arms struggled to hold her weight up while gravity and inertia tried to pull herdown knocked the wind out of her. Her legs crashed into the building underneath the roof ledge.

She closed her eyes and focused on not falling like a dumbass. She swung one foot forward to plant it flat against the wall, then the other. Painstakingly, she inched her feet up the wall to give her arms leverage. Once she had leverage, she muscled her elbows onto the roof, kept inching her feet up, and dragged herself up, onto the ledge.

Crystals of ice smacked against wooden shingles, exploded into sharp fragments that melted the moment they touched her skin.

Yuffie cast Thunder until her temples throbbed, then stood and made her way across the roofs. Let the little freak follow her if it wasn't a puddle of Heartless goo; the Claymores would take care of it.

Once she hit the Aerith's place, she paused to sit on the roof ledge. She had to be careful as she climbed in her window. Her upper arms and back were already killing her.

She flopped onto her bed and tried to figure out why she'd been so convinced the roofs had dark ceramic tiles rather than cedar shingles.

The moon rises huge outside her window. For a moment it flickers dark, wreathed in red, and then it's a milk white moon again.

So she gets up and climbs from her window down to the street. It's a clear night; no clouds, no Heartless, and the Claymores never once appear. She crosses through the Bailey and then down to the walk toward the End. The ground is cool and smooth underneath her feet but she refuses to look down.

She passes through the frozen crystal without touching the walls. She climbs down the cliff face at the End. The thicket parts in front of her, brambles pushing and rolling to get out of her way. The vines and bushes undulate. She doesn't feel the fallen thorns as she walks.

Maleficent's gate is open. She looks up at that huge, white moon. Then she looks back to the garden.

The vines have all died. There are no roses anymore.

A green girl perches on the edge of an ornamental fountain. She has no chains of flowers. Her peplos billows in a wind Yuffie doesn't feel.

The girl looks up at her, and smiles, and falls backwards. Water splashes up — turns red —

And then the fountain burbles with pale fire. From behind her, someone clears his throat.

Yuffie turns around and sees Hades, white teng-yi wrapped right-over-left unravelling from the bottom up to become his usual black robes.

"What'd I tell ya about wishes, huh, kid?" His voice has his standard strange combination of wry, deadpan amusement and manic energy.

"A fat lot of nothing useful, Corpseface."

His hair turns red, steam hissing out his ears. "I tried to warn you."

"Huh, that was a warning? Felt more like you were trying to piss me off."

"There's a price," Hades says, and suddenly he's holding white wool that stains itself red. "You get what you pay for, and you haven't paid up yet."

"What are you even talking about?"

"You took what was mine — transported stolen goods, as it were — and maybe you did it because of his wish, or maybe you did it because it wasyour last wish. But you did it." Hades levels a finger at her. "And you've got to pay up sooner or later."

In the face of that intensity and seriousness, what else can she do? Yuffie flaps a hand, breezy. "Do you accept Munny, or do I need to find six actual coin-shaped coins?"

Hades's hair turns red again, but then he turns and stalks away, saying nothing. He paces to the gate and back, all without saying a word.

And some of what he said before sinks in.

"Wait a minute. What do you mean his wish? And what do you mean my last wish?"

Hades smiles. At first she can't figure out what's wrong with the expression, until she realizes that he has no visible gums. It's just teeth, all the way down.

"I'll keep it simple, kid. Maleficent's coming. Maleficent and I go way back. As far back as a fairy can go."

The fountain's hiss becomes a burbling splash, no longer fire but clear cold water. She knows without even looking back that she could lose herself in that fountain.

Yuffie raises an eyebrow. "I'm not hearing any kind of a wish I made, here."

Hades brings one cold hand up to her face, presses his thumb against her cheek. He leans down, and says, for once not in the tone of a used Gummy ship salesman, "I'm offering you a bargain."

She crosses her arms and stares up at him. As a rule, she mostly tries to ignore crazy people. Hades is an exception; he's the kind of crazy she can't ignore. She kind of likes her world in one piece. She keeps all her stuff here.

So she'll listen. For now.

"You give me what I want, or I help Maleficent destroy what you want."

"And what do you want?"

He snaps his fingers. A rust-brown pulsing thing appears in his left palm. Thick red liquid — some of it is bright, almost pink; some is dark — drips from the thing onto the floor.

A heart. He's got a heart in his left hand. She jerks back, away from him and his hands and the fountain that isn't splashing anymore.

In his right hand she sees Radiant Garden. The silken net of stars in its night sky, a tiny glowing sun, the tower of Ansem's Castle and the cedar-shingled roofs of the town.

"This for that, Yuffie Kisaragi."

He looks down at her, smirking, and then lobs the heart at her. She reaches out, half-trying to bat it away, but ends up catching it. It sits in her hand a moment, pulsing, pumping — beating. It shrinks, shrivels, brightens until it's a crumpled ball of red wool.

A moment passes, and then he's gone. The white moon is gone, the fountain is gone, and she dreams she is sitting alone in her room, leaning her head against her window.

But in your dreams, whatever they be.
Dream a little dream of me.

— Cass Elliott, "Dream A Little Dream of Me"